


Don't Want To Set The World On Fire

by soupmetaphors



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 3
Genre: All Characters (mostly) - Freeform, Canon Compliant, Canon Era, Canonical Character Death, F/F, F/M, Gen, M/M, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-11
Updated: 2016-08-07
Packaged: 2018-05-26 02:00:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 11
Words: 8,906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6219223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soupmetaphors/pseuds/soupmetaphors
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>And so the Lone Wanderer stepped out of Vault 101 and into the history of the Capital Wasteland.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> These chapters are non-chronological, and those that are happen to be so purely be coincidence.

“I shot my first man four hours ago,” she tells Gob.

He’s banging his fist on his radio again- the _eighth_ time she’s seen him do it. Around her, the saloon’s patrons wince, yell at him to _stop fucking hitting the damn thing_.

It doesn’t bother her. What does bother her is that her entire life has been a lie. She’s sure her father must’ve a damn good reason for hiding it all, but… It _hurts_. Not majorly, no. But it’s a dull, scraping ache in her chest.

“Sure you did,” the ghoul says, half-distracted.

She reaches for her drink- whiskey, something she’d only tasted _once_. Never grew to like it, but she suspects it’ll be her favorite the way things are going.

In the corner, a man in pre-War digs beckons towards her. Ignores him in favor of watching Moriarty come round from the back to yell at Gob. She’s got other things on her mind. Like finding her father. Like learning her place here in the wasteland.

Downs her whiskey in one go, grimacing at the burning aftertaste.

 _What shall we do first?_ If she had her way, leave and actually start looking.

But she’s tired. Her feet hurt, her clothes are spattered with blood, her head is starting to throb.

“How much for a room?” she asks Nova.

The woman grins. Names her price, and Ace fumbles with the caps. Doesn’t even _ask_ which room she’s in.

Instead, she picks up her bat and climbs the rickety stairs herself. Checks each door until she finds the _right_ one. It’s small, smaller than their room back in 101. But that doesn’t matter. There’s somewhere for her head and it’s fine.

Throwing herself down on the bed, she closes her eyes. Tries to tell herself that things are going to work out. All she needs to do is fine her father. Everything will be fine then.

She _hopes_.

* * *

 

The sun has barely risen when she’s stumbling out of the saloon, head pounding. Maybe that alcohol wasn’t such a good idea- It’s going to take some getting used to. After all, she’s fresh from the vault.

 _First stop is GNR_ , she thinks to herself. Can’t forget where she’s going.

If there’s anyone that needs help, she’ll help. But the search for her father is above all things.

“Capital wasteland, get fucking ready,” she whispers, as she sets off.

For some strange reason, she finds herself humming as she walks. _Keep your head up and all will be fine_.

Of course it will.


	2. Chapter 2

“Did you really think I’d blow up a _town_ for you?”

Fingers around the last letter she’d ever receive, sitting in that ridiculously over-sized chair the saloon had. Sitting where they’d met.

The radio’s on- Three-Dog announcing her latest escapade: Something to do with her helping out someone or whatever. She doesn’t care. There are a _lot_ of things she doesn’t care about, and it’s beginning to frighten her.

Nothing matters at this moment. No, nothing does.

 _Fly free_ , the sender of the letters has written.

And- despite what Ace wants to believe- she _wants_ to be captive.

She wants to entertain a fancy where Burke comes back for her, sweeps her off her feet. A knight in bloodied armor and a voice to kill for. They’d be outlaws: The man in the pre-War suit and the girl with the killer swing of her bat.

No responsibilities, no missing fathers, no lifetime of lies weighing heavily down on her. Just the open road. Just Burke’s flustering every time she winked his way. Just… _life_.

But that isn’t going to happen now, is it?

Outside, the bomb still waits for her. She’s taken so long to figure out how to defuse it, scared of blowing the town right up. Imagines Three-Dog talking about it, and a grim smile comes to her face.

_The town of Megaton got blown to hell by that crazy kid from 101!_

Her father won’t be very impressed, she reckons.

Leaning back deeper into the upholstery, she exhales, heavily. Letter still in her grip.

They were amusing at first. But slowly she began to think of other _alternatives_. Think of letting everything drop, pack up, run off. Easy, so easy, to assume another identity.

_Did you really think I’d blow up a town for you?_

Because she’ll do a lot more than that if it means having her twisted ideas pull through.

* * *

 

“Are you actually going to go out and defuse that bomb?”

Words filter into her hearing as she raises her head, groggily. Blinks. Tries to adjust to her surroundings.

“When did it get dark?” she asks with a heavy tongue.

A sigh. As her vision adjusts, Ace realizes it one of the Megaton residents. “At this rate, we’ll be all blown up before you’re finished.”

She stands. A piece of paper falls from her lap, and she bends to pick it up. Ignores the writing, stuffs it into her pocket.

“I’ll get to it _now_ if you’re so fucking worked up over it.”

One shot. One chance to make everyone stop walking on an invisible net, ropes about to snap. _You can do this, honey._

She isn’t thinking straight. It’s a fact that bites at her as she stumbles out of the saloon and into the night.

Another fact: She should probably _not_ do things when she’s confused or angry or a strange mix of in-between, with a little fed-up thrown in just for giggles.

But it’s too late. Finds herself standing in front of the bomb.

And before she knows what she’s doing, she’s removing the already loose paneling. Uses the light of her Pip-Boy to illuminate the mess of wires within. Red, blue, green, they stare up at her like snakes.

She can do this. Or so she keeps telling herself, as fingers cautiously pick at the wires.

She _must_.

* * *

 

Eventually, she falls back on her haunches, straight into a puddle of radiated water. Her Geiger counter beings to murmur. Ignoring it, she sits there. Allows her pants to get soaked.

The bomb is dead. Won’t harm anyone, won’t go off, nothing. Just a corpse from the pre-War days.

Ace has no idea what the Children of the Atom are going to say. Maybe they won’t care, maybe they’ll find a way to power it back up.

But _her_ job is done and that’s all there is.

Picking herself up, she turns off her light. Stands there a while longer instead of finding a spot to sleep for the night.

Words from the letter come back to her, suddenly, swiftly.

_It is a burden I shall continue to carry, because someone must._

Turns away from the bomb. Starts towards the ramps, ready to head back up. The words keep repeating and she finds herself beginning to _thank_ Burke for sending it. Bar the desperation, she needs to be reminded of where she’s going, what she’s supposed to do.

She’ll carry her burden. Because someone must.


	3. Chapter 3

She wakes up with the sound of the doors opening, light spilling in from the living room. Props herself up on her elbows. Squints at the sudden change in brightness.

“Dad?” she calls out, as a silhouette appears in the doorway.

The silhouette pauses. There’s something in its hands- A knapsack of some kind. She can’t really tell. But the way the item is being carried is like it’s loaded with things.

“Yes, honey?” her father says.

“Are you going somewhere?”

That’s ridiculous- There’s nowhere to _go_. It’s just them and this Vault. Yet something sparks at the back of her sleep-addled mind.

Now she’s sitting up, covers falling away. Still can’t see her father’s face. Doesn’t know if that’s a good sign or a bad sign.

“No.” There’s finally an answer after a moment. “No, of course not. I just had to take back some books from my office.”

Ace tilts her head. She wants to question him more. Wants to prod him, make him spit it out. Books don’t rattle when you shift them. They don’t make the sound of metal upon metal.

But she trusts him. He’s her father. He won’t always be there to hold her hand, but she trusts him to catch her when she falls.

“Don’t stay up too late,” she tells him, lying back down. Pulls the covers back up to her chin. “Doctor’s orders.”

He laughs. For some strange reason, it sounds sad to her ears. _Must be the sleep_.

“I won’t.”

Footsteps, retreating to the living room. The doors close and cast everything into darkness.

It only takes a matter of moments for her to drift off to sleep: A deep sleep this time. She doesn’t hear the door to the outer corridor open. She doesn’t hear the sound of Vault 101 being opened after _years_ of being shut.

For now, she sleeps, trusting that when she opens her eyes, her father will still be there for her.

* * *

 

She runs past the other pods. Her legs can barely keep her upright, but she’s pushing herself, pushing until she can see him, standing there. The wasteland’s aged him: The silver in his hair is a testimony to that.

(But has she not changed too?)

And then she comes screeching to a halt.

“Honey, I-“ her father starts as her expression rapidly darkens.

“You lied to me.”

Closes his mouth. She can see his gaze flick over her shoulder, hear the tramp of boots as Charon approaches. But then he looks back at her, with the same eyes she sees when she looks in any reflective surface.

“I-“

“You lied to me. And don’t you _dare_ say it was because it would keep me safe,” she says. She doesn’t want this to be their first conversation in _months_. But she can’t help it.

Months of wavering anger, lost in an instant, only to be brought back by harsh reality.

Her father holds her gaze. “I would have told you when I came back.”

“People were out to _kill_ me! I had to kill people I lived with my whole _life_!”

“I told you I wasn’t always going to b-“

She cuts him off with a wave of her hand. “Save it. God, just… Just… let’s go. We can start over later, okay? Let’s go.”

Her heart is beating in her chest, an angry sledgehammer of a rhythm. _The wasteland ages you_.

“You’ll travel with me?”

Ace is already walking past him when he speaks. Pauses, but doesn’t turn around. She’s still angry at him- How could she _not_ be?

Yet there’s some sort of quiet relief hidden underneath everything. Slowly, slowly coming to the surface.

“You’re still my father,” she says. “That was a- pardon my language- _fucking moronic_ move. But you’re still family.”

* * *

 

She watches him scribble down calculations at his desk. Behind him, her mother’s embroidery hangs on the wall, a relic from a home she doubts she can return to.

Hasn’t apologized. Isn’t _going_ to, until he does first.

“I’ve heard of your deeds on the radio,” her father informs, without looking up.

Picks up a bottle from his desk, takes a swig. It tastes like it’s been sitting out for days but it’ll do. Hell, at this point, _anything_ will do for her.

Swallows. “So has the whole Capital.”

“Well, I’m proud of you.” The words make her blink. “And your mother would be, too.”

Takes another long gulp, sloshing the liquid round her mouth. There’s honestly nothing to say or do in reply. Unless you count crying. (And she _doesn’t_.)

Her father puts down his pencil. Looks up at her. “You shouldn’t be drinking that.”

“The Overseer isn’t here to prohibit that,” she answers. There’s a half-hearted grin on her face. “And I’m old enough.”

“Of course you are.”

His tone is absent-minded. Ace can see his gaze settle somewhere beyond her, beyond the room even. Putting the bottle down, she reaches out. Hesitantly touches his hand.

“Don’t stay up too late. Doctor’s orders.”

He laughs, suddenly focusing back on her. It _still_ sounds sad.

 _Just like that night_. Before everything went to shit.

“I won’t.”

She leaves him there, sitting at his desk, lost between time and space. Finds a quiet corner to sit.

 _He’ll still be here_ , she thinks, as she leans against the wall, eyes closing. All her efforts, all those emotions, they aren’t going to be in vain.

* * *

 

She’s pounding at the glass door, screaming herself hoarse. Her father is in there. In the room filling too quickly with radiation, her Geiger counter beginning to scream.

“Dad!” she shrieks, unheeding of the chaos going on behind her: Scientists scurrying back and forth, orders being shouted out. “Open up! Open up, for fuck’s sake, _please_!”

He’s staggering to her. The glass keeps them apart, won’t even _crack_ under her relentless smashing. Tears, blurring her vision. She mustn’t cry.

Crying would mean weakness. Would mean showing them what a _waste_ she is. _A waste of Catherine’s life_ , Ace can imagine Dr. Li saying, disgustedly.

“Run.” Her father has to steady himself against the glass. “Get out of here, now!”

“I _can’t_. I can’t leave you. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I can’t, I-“

The words choke her, as she struggles to control herself.

“Honey, you have to run. _Now_.”

She shakes her head, is about to argue, when he falls to his knees. For a moment, she thinks he might rise. A hopeful, _stupid_ moment.

And then her father’s on the floor and she’s just standing there, dumbly.

“Let’s get out of here,” Charon growls in her ear, taking her arms. “They’ll be looking for us.”

She lets him. She lets him pull her away from her father’s body. Doesn’t even _scream_ : All the despair has been sapped out of her, replaced by something different. Something _familiar_.

And when Charon hands her bat to her, an unspoken look of apology between them, she barely acknowledges it. Like a friend, the anger greets her with open arms, starting when she smashes the first trooper’s helmet in.

* * *

 

They leave her alone in the Citadel courtyard. No proper condolences, just bustling, getting plans to take the Memorial back from the Enclave.

She can’t even _cry_ at this point: Exhaustion sets in, pours itself over the rage. All she can do is stand there, under the night sky, alone in the world.

" _Honey, you have to run_."

Part of her father’s last words echo in her ears. She flinches, then flinches again when a hand touches her shoulder.

“I don’t want to be here,” she whispers, turning around to find Charon.

Stretches her hands out towards him, like a child searching for someone, _anyone_. He picks her up, effortlessly. Starts out of the Citadel.

“Home,” he murmurs. “We’ll go home.”

She can hardly argue with that, can she?

They’ll return to the Citadel, of course. She needs to fuck the Enclave up as bad as they did her. She _wants_ to.

But for now, she sleeps, chin on the ghoul’s shoulder. Trusting that when she opens her eyes, he’ll still be there. Because there’s no one else left.


	4. Chapter 4

Two kids lie on the deck of Rivet City. 

There are empty bottles littered around them, glass glinting as weak sunlight filters through the clouds. From the lip of one, the last dredges of diluted amber drip onto the ground.

“Thanks for springing me from the vault, nosebleed.”

She tilts her head to the side so she can see him. “I didn’t do it for you.”

Not the calm walk down to the reactor, already figuring out the best way to ensure it would _never_ function properly again. Not watching Stanley being flung backwards into the wall and not getting up again.

(She would’ve been his assistant in another life. She could’ve told him to stand back in another life.)

Ace had come back to _help._

And helped she had. Helped herself, helped Butch, helped them all run into the wasteland to get slaughtered. 

_Grief_ , she tries to reason with herself, as Butch blinks at her, confused. _You weren’t thinking straight._

“Sure, you _must’ve_ had your reasons. I mean, world’s big. Amata took a hell of a chance trying to get your attention.”

_Your reasons._

They had just stepped into Megaton when her Pip-Boy picked up the emergency signals. And she’d ran off, without thinking. Ran off, shouting that she’d be back, ran off like a child hearing her mother call for dinner. 

Only home was a mess. (If 101 had ever really _been_ her home.)

“I didn’t do _anything_ for you,” she says, and her tone grows hard. “You just gave me the idea.”

The idea that the only way to solve the conflict was to push _everyone_ off the edge. To pray as they plummeted towards the unknown.

“Woah, take it easy.” Butch’s starting to sit up, hands in a defensive gesture. “I didn’t mean-“

Looks away. “I know. I know what you meant.” 

In her head, she’s back there in 101: Overturned tables, blood on the walls, alarm lights constantly flashing red. Familiar faces that start to distort as soon as she nears. 

She searched for the Chang living quarters, desperate for one last look. Just to see if her father was there. Perhaps he was playing a joke on her, that he’d be sitting there, smiling.

“What took you so long?” he’d say, and she’d run straight into his arms. 

But all the doors had been locked. And time had slowly eaten away her sense of direction in the vault, throwing her into an endless maze of corridors. 

When Butch mentioned the reactor, it was like a sign from the heavens. Or from her own personal demons, depending: If she couldn’t have it, no one else could either. 

She’d ran as the reactors sparked and fizzed with dying energy, already leaking radiation. Past her father’s old office, past the diner, past Amata, still demanding answers. 

Out and off into the night, stumbling, choking on her tears. 

(She’d never used to cry so much. The wasteland had simultaneously hardened and softened her.) 

“I did it for me,” is her final verdict, as she rises to her feel, slowly. “I did it for me because I’m selfish, I’m angry, I’m everything they thought I wouldn’t be.”

Because the door to the world had opened and she’d stepped through. Because her father’s face kept her up at night. Because the world had taken her and broken her back and threw her down the steepest hill it could find.

She glares at him, and he stares back at her.

It’s not poetic. It’s not beautiful. It’s the messy truth, and it’s all she knows now. 

“See you around.” 

She’s halfway to the stairwell when fingers catch her sleeve, pulling her back. Turns, angrily, one hand raising to slap Butch, words already rising from her throat. 

“Come on, Ace,” he says, and her hand stops in midair. “You don’t gotta get mad and leave.”

“I’m not mad.” Her voice is soft now. She looks over his shoulder, not wanting to meet his eyes. 

He lets go of her sleeve. She takes a step back. 

(For a moment, she thinks that if she’s quick enough, she can pull out her pistol and shoot him. Then no one will be left to talk about 101. About the girl who she was before this whole mess started, before the world started to lose all color.)

“I’m not mad.”

When he pulls her down, she submits, allows her head to make contact with the floor, allows her muscles to relax, the tightness in her throat to go away.

They’re just two kids lying on the deck of Rivet City. Nothing more, nothing less. 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realized that Ace honestly just- latches onto anyone who shows her even a split-second of kindness and second-thought.

The first sensation she feels when she’s brought out of the darkness that has cascaded momentarily over her vision is resignation: The kind that’s supposed to say ‘ _not_ this _bullshit again_ ’, the kind that makes you sick and grinds your bones to dust under its heels.

The second thing she feels is that heavy pounding in her head, like some jerk’s doing a particularly happy dance, and, _boy_ , it doesn’t feel too good.

Picks herself up off the ground, slowly, slowly, ears still ringing from the explosion. Her body aches, dirt and sweat clinging to her like second skin.

Her thoughts are a haze, unable to pinpoint where she is, what she’s doing, what’s going on. In front of her lies the flattened remains of the mansion, small fires still going on here and there, nothing but rubble and ruin.

 _The mansion._ Ace struggles for the connection, struggles to string two things together. _Running to the mansion. From the ferris wheel._

_The radio jammer. The voice over the speakers, like God himself. The mansion._

Her eyes widen, the realization slamming into her harder than any super mutant.

_The mansion._

“Desmond!” His name tears out of her throat, a mindless scream. “ _Desmond!_ ”

Breaks into a run, stumbling over debris, uncaring of any hidden dangers. Panic, panic, _panic_ sparking off a thousand alarms in her mind, all ringing and blaring. _Too many lost_ , the only semi-coherent thought she can form.

Too many dead, too many lost, too many ghosts that watch her sleep and she can’t add one more to her list-

Her legs hit a raised surface, and she’s barely able to catch herself from falling. Stares at the circular hatch, uncomprehendingly. The world is a blur of sickly green and grey and she can’t even _think_ straight anymore.

 _Panic room._ Two words that fight their way through the fast-thump of her heart, the crash of words in her head. _Panic room._

Ignoring her straining muscles, she yanks open the hatch, almost falls into the darkness. _Use the ladder, Ace._ Like a child, brain trying to feed the body messages, lowers herself into the space below.

A small room. Well-stocked with provisions, ammo, the kind that might last for a while. A mattress that she wants nothing to do but lie down on and die.

Instead, she leans against the wall, breathing heavily, attempting futilely to get her heart to beat gently.

“He killed my pups!”

She can only distantly hear Desmond’s tirade, hear him spitting curses at Calvert and lamenting his losses. Point Lookout is a hell she wants to escape, as soon as she helps him conclude his _business._

( _It’s not like the Capital is any better,_ the thought occurs to her. _Is it? Is anywhere_ really _worth it?_ )

“- _I’m going to kill that fucking-_ “

( _Nowhere is_.)

“Don’t,” she says, and it’s more forceful than she intends: He stares at her, almost amazed.

“What, _don’t_ kill that son of a-“

“Don’t you _dare_ scare me like that again, old man.”

He snorts, and she resists the urge to slap him. To kiss him. To climb outside, walk into the ocean, and disappear beneath the water forever.

“Getting sentimental, are we, kid?”

 _Yes,_ she wants to shout. _Yes, because while we’re_ stuck _here, you’re the only fucking thing I_ have. Because she’s miles away from the closest thing to _home_ she can call. Because she’s the literal embodiment of _regret_ , a walking legacy to two scientists who died for her and she tried to die for them, _she really did_.

But things don’t work out. _Never_ work out for that crazy kid from 101.

“No.”

But she’s glad when he doesn’t broach the subject further, glad he doesn’t make mention of the tears glittering in her eyes.

“Of course not.”


	6. Chapter 6

Raven’s Rock crashes down around her as she runs down corridor after corridor swarming with Enclave goons, turrets turning against their compatriots. The world is fire and blood and bullets and she’s trying to get out as fast as she can.

Doesn’t slow down, doesn’t even _try_ to pick up a weapon and fight. Her pack bangs against her hip as her bare feet slip on the floor, hands raised above her head- As _if_ that will stop bullets, as if that’ll stop the soldiers from firing at her on sight.

_Get out, get out, get out._

That primal instinct to get the hell away from the danger sharpish, unheeding any external elements.

The exit looms ahead, twin doors that lead outside, that lead to freedom, away from Eden’s madness, away from this godawful place-

She bursts out into the weak sunshine. Hears the loud whooshing of propellers: Vertibirds, leaving the nest for a final time, rising higher into the cloudy sky. Ace watches them go, runs at least ten more steps before sounds hits her like a missile.

The base explodes, a lightshow up at close quarters, and she doesn’t bother to glance back at it, still running, slower now that the immediate danger has passed. Hears the _rat-tat-tat_ of a Gatling somewhere, sliding down the sloping ground. _Don’t be more Enclave_ , she prays. _Don’t be more Enclave._

It _is_ more Enclave. But there’s a super mutant facing them, wearing a ragged blue jumpsuit she can recognize anywhere, everywhere.

“Fawkes!” she shouts, as she reaches the bottom of the slope, as he opens fire upon the remaining soldiers. “Hey, Fawkes!”

Toes dig into the sand and dirt, nearing Fawkes as the Enclave drop like toy soldiers, steam rising from their armor.

He glances up at her, gives her a grin that shows all his teeth. “You made it out. Wasn’t sure what could’ve escaped a collapse like that- But you did.”

“I did.” She turns around then, looks at the ruins of Raven’s Rock. Dead soldiers lie scattered everywhere, the smell of blood and smoke hanging thick in the air. A grim smile spread across her face.

Eden is dead, offline, whatever you want to call it. But _gone._ One name crossed off her very short list of revenge. The _other_ …

_Autumn._ The name itself makes her want to spit in revulsion. _Colonel Augustus Autumn._

She’ll say it, she thinks, when they meet again. She’ll say his full name as she drives her bat into his skull, as she forces him to look her in the eye from on his knees.

She’ll make _him_ say her name. And her father’s, loud enough that the ghosts can hear, that the gods themselves might take pity on him for heaven hath no fury like Ace, and not the Ace she’d been _before_ stepping out of 101.

“Where will you go now?” Fawkes asks, pulling her out of her thoughts.

She had run and run and run and now he asks her a question she needs to _think_ to answer. Logically, the Citadel. To tell the Brotherhood, to go and get some _proper_ help so that she can kick Autumn’s ass herself, and not the other way around.

So she says it. “The Citadel. We’re going to finish this.”

_Once and for all._ She’s tired of this charade, tired of being caught in the middle of the Brotherhood and the Enclave, tired of this legacy on her shoulders, tired of being Ace Chang, the Lone Wanderer.

“Then I wish you luck, my friend.”

“Thanks, Fawkes.”

Turns away. Doesn’t ask him if he wants to come, doesn’t ask him to join her: It’s dangerous, even for someone of his stature and ability. _No more losing people_ , she’d promised herself many a night. And what she promises, she keeps, even if it seems more futile day by goddamn day.

 Gives herself a second before she breaks into a run. The Citadel is way off, judging from the coordinates on her Pip-Boy. And she’s miles to go before she sleeps.


	7. Chapter 7

"Really? You think you're just going to waltz in here and take my daughter? The daughter of the Lord of The Pitt?”

Ace doesn’t turn around, still cradling the baby in her arms, watching tiny fingers wave up at her, watching incredibly fine brows furrow in concentration.

“You'll be shot dead before you reach the bridge, all without so much as spilling a drop of blood on Marie's blankie. And that's if you're _lucky_. If they take you in one piece, I'll string you up on the bridge, and keep you alive until Marie's old enough to shoot you, _herself_.”

She has Ashur’s eyes, that much is clear, and so quiet, like she _knows_ she’s safe. It amazes Ace to no end. This child, this small miracle, is going to save the Pitt. Is going to-

“Put her _down_ ,” Sandra snarls.

The click of a gun, a cold barrel jammed beneath her chin. Ace barely flinches. Weeks spent out in the Pitt, _months_ spent out in the Capital Wasteland, and next to nothing fazes her anymore. Nothing _too_ much, at any rate.

“… I just wanted to carry her,” Ace says, with a calmness that should scare her, deep down inside. But just _holding_ Marie scares her more than anything else.

“Of _course_ you did. And then you’d run off and give her to those bastards-“

“… I won’t.”

The baby gurgles, and Ace stares. Out in the wasteland, there aren’t many children, let alone _babies._ Too risky, too dangerous, too fragile. She’s helped her father deliver a kid or two before, no problem, but this is different.

This is on the outside.

She can feel Sandra’s hands beginning to tremble, gun pressing harder into her flesh. “How do I know I can trust you?”

_My parents were scientists too_ , she wants to say. _They died for me, like you might die for Marie. They said I would help change the world._

None of those words ever make it to her lips. She sighs, a soft sound that’s chained to memories that overload and spill over her thoughts.

“… Because she’s going to change the world,” she says. “Because I don’t want her to… To become…”

_Like me. Orphaned, carrying a legacy that won’t get me anywhere, destined to die for the people._

Swallows. Marie frowns at her, tries to grab at her hair, but her hair is far too short to gain any real grip on. She wonders if her father would’ve stood like this so many times, haunted by the future, haunted by the past. Wonders if her mother ever saw her face before she died, told her she was the most beautiful girl in the world.

(But all that’s left of Catherine is a piece of embroidery, of a holotape with her voice on it, in Ace’s own features that even then take after James more oft than not.)

“I want her to grow up.”

_There._ The truth, the simplest truth possible.

The gun wavers. And recedes, leaving her standing there, gently rocking Marie back and forth. The baby’s eyelids flutter close, and she rocks her for a little while more before walking over to the cradle. Deposits the child there with as much tenderness as her world-weary bones can muster.

She turns to find Sandra standing there, still holding the gun. There’s a resoluteness in her stand, steel in her jaw: A mother’s instinctive urge to protect blazing through. And it’s something Ace respects.

“I’ll deal with Wernher. And then you don’t ever have to see me again.”

It’s a peace offering: Get rid of the troublemaker, restore a semi-balance to the Pitt until it can be fixed, it can be _cured_. It’s all she _has_ to offer.

She’s done plenty of shitty things. Things that include killing innocent people, selling them into slavery, things that would’ve made her parents shake their heads. The least she can do is atone for a thing or two.

(The least she can do is _save_ Marie from a similar fate.)

Sandra nods, tightly. “Fine. Now get the hell out of here before I call the guards.”

She turns back to the baby, already sleeping soundly. Bends over, presses her lips to Marie’s forehead, and then straightens.

“You’re going to change the world,” whispered one more time, one more time, just for luck.

Only then does she really turn her back, brush past Sandra, and leave Haven for a final time. There’s a date with Wernher she’s supposed to keep.

And when she sees him, she’s going to break his face in.


	8. Chapter 8

“Do any of you read alien?” she says, voice filled with giddy excitement and anticipation.

The rest of the survivors are scrambled about, positioning themselves where Sally directs them to. Ace doesn’t question the logic of it all: Standing in an alien ship with folks from years and _years_ and _centuries_ before, ready to kick alien ass one final round, the Earth a huge globe outside the windows.

“Who the hell reads _alien_?” Paulson growls from the teleporter, and she laughs.

(It must be the lack of oxygen. It must be what appears to be a _lifetime_ scurrying around the ship, getting to her, making her feel freer, feel like she can do anything.)

Stands in front of the captain’s chair, watching those hovering blue holographs dance and flicker, a language she can’t understand flashing messages on-off-on-off, buttons so shiny, so _pressable._

(She doesn’t think she’s felt this _light_ in such a long time.)

“Get ready!” Somah yells, as something blocks the view of Earth: Another ship, size probably rivaling the one they’re on, probably swarming with _very_ angry aliens.

Ace presses the first button she thinks _should_ be the correct one, is pleasantly surprised to see the shields come up. And then the smile turns into a grin as the attacking ship fires, death ray bouncing harmlessly off their craft.

“Suck it!” she shouts, slamming the other button to fire back a ray of their very own. “No one’s gonna take us alive!”

“Does that mean they’re going to take us dead?” Elliot calls from down by the jammer.

She grins. “Shut up, Tercorien.”

Death rays fire over and over, shields wavering from full-power to low, almost non-existential. At one point, the shields really _do_ go down, and for a moment, Ace scrambles all over the controls, smashing every single button in sight, consequences be damned.

“The jammer’s down!” Elliot shouts, as she jabs a finger at Toshiro, then at the generator.

“Help me restart this!”

The samurai barks something at her, shakes his head vehemently, and she abandons her post. Gets to the generator, gives it a hefty kick.

“Tercorien, get down to the engineering core,” Somah commands, and Ace steps back just in time for Toshiro to give it a try. His boots connect with the metal, and the sound of the monitors firing up brings her rushing back to the controls.

Slams her hand down on the just as another ray comes firing at them. The ship rocks, precariously, and she hears Paulson shout something about aliens coming in through the teleporter, to make it quick before they end up dead.

She can hear gunfire, aliens screaming, Somah and Paulson screaming, as fingers race across the controls: Monitoring the shields, hitting the attacking ship's weak spots.

“Come _on_!” Ace screams, as their shields go offline one more time. Curls her right hand into a fist, brings it down on the button-

With that last burst of firepower, the attacking ship explodes. She sees it go up in flames, fall to Earth. Wonders where it’ll land, but doesn’t care: The crew is cheering, and she spins around to see them standing there, wonder and awe on their faces.

“We did it!” Sally whoops, and Ace grabs Somah and spins her in a circle.

“We killed them,” she shouts. “We killed those bastards, we did it, we did it!”

Somah shoves her back, but it’s a playful shove, some of her seriousness vanishing. “Damn right we did, hotshot. Congrats.”

“What now?”

“Well, I guess we could stick round up here. I mean, we’ve got a _spaceship_. The possibilities are endless.”

They can travel the stars. They can leave Earth behind, they can become a mystery, a myth. It’s a fucking _spaceship_ , and Ace is grinning ear to ear with each passing thought.

And then it falters. “At any rate, I don’t think I’ll go with you.”

“Why not?” Sally asks.

“… I’ve got some folks back there. I got… A life, if you can call it that.”

Charon, Dogmeat, a little house in Megaton where the lights are always on and where the beds are comfortable. A purifier that’s pumping water to a wasteland that will _never_ deserve it. Things that seem so _insignificant_ , now that she’s all the way up here.

But she must go.

“Hey,” Somah cuts in. “You can still beam yourself back up here any time, y’know?”

“I know.” Takes a step back, looks from face to face: Unlikely allies, maybe even _friends_ , so to speak. “Thank you. Thank you all.”

“For what?” Elliot asks, unimpressed, and she hits him on the shoulder.

“For whatever adventure this was. And for _not_ shooting me in the head.”

“You’re welcome.”

They watch her walk to the teleporter. She pauses before she gets on the platform, glances back at them over her shoulder.

“You crazy kids don’t blow up any planets while I’m gone, alright?” she jokes, and they roll their eyes, mutter under their breath.

She gets on the platform. The view of the ship is fading, being dispersed into a thousand blurring pixels, a thousand shapes and colors-

Finds herself standing where the crash site was, now a charred circle with only some rubble and a deep skid mark to verify the location.

Looks up at the sky: That familiar blue-grey, hiding the stars, hiding the world above and the spaceship she knows sits there.

“Be safe,” she says, as if her almost-friends can hear her.

Bends down to pick up a rock, fingers curling around it. And then she starts to walk, tossing the rock in the air as she goes.

_Destination: Home._


	9. Chapter 9

Her bat feels like the wrath of God in her hands as she storms into the Rotunda, Sarah Lyons following only a step or two behind her. The hiss and click of the doors signal they’ve been sealed, and she isn’t surprised to see who’s waiting there for them. For _her_.

“Autumn,” she spits, and he smiles.

“You again.” Her teeth grit, seeing him there, so comfortable here, with two of his men, the place where her father paid for his life’s work. “I can’t say I’m surprised, Miss Chang. You and your ilk seem hell-bent on destroying everything our government has worked to achieve.”

She can sense Sarah’s unease, practically _smelling_ the bloodlust hanging round her own head. But she forces the words out of her mouth, thicker than any blood she’s spit up before.

“Call my full name,” she snarls. “Call my father’s name, you fucking bastard.”

The man sneers. “There’s nothing to stop me from killing you this time. Let’s end this, Ace Chang.”

Her name sounds like _filth_ in his mouth. But she must hear him say it. Must hear him say James’s name, if not to cleanse herself for a final time.

“Give it up, Autumn. You’ve lost.”

“I beg to differ: The Enclave is at the height of its power.”

Why is she still talking? _Why are you still talking?_ Dares to take her eyes off Autumn for even the briefest of moments, meeting Sarah’s gaze.

“I trust you,” the paladin mouths, and Ace bites her lip, turning back to the man who now had the Enclave in the palm of his hand.

“Raven Rock is gone. Eden checked out. You’ve got nothing left.”

She can’t stop her mouth talking, but her hands are twitching- Just _itching_ to break his jaw, just _waiting_ to pry the words out of his mouth.

_Say his name. Let our ghosts rest._

Autumn shakes his head, as if he can’t possibly fathom how she could understand him. “The American people are worth fighting for. The future _must_ be secured, and I won’t let you stand in the way of that.”

“You know what?” she says, tone suddenly rising, changing pitch. “Screw this- You’re going down!”

Without so much as a thought, she charges. Doesn’t give a damn about the Enclave soldiers- Sarah can handle that. It’s Autumn she wants.

“Murderer! You fucking murderer!”

Her bat hits his jaw before he can react, sending his stumbling backwards. He hits the railings, and she raises her bat- But Autumn draws his pistol, fires. Searing pain as the bullet kisses her arm, a scream of rage clawing from her throat.

Brings the bat down, knocking the gun from his grasp. Again. Again. The sounds of gunfire as distant, so distant. It’s just the two of them here.

_And only one will leave alive._

“Murderer?” Autumn wheezes, on his knees. His face is swelling, blood flowing free from his mouth, holding his arm at an awkward angle. “How many have _you_ murdered, following your father’s trail?”

“His name is James!”

Her bat raises, but she brings it down to the railings behind it at the last minute. The sound of steel on wood echoes throughout the Rotunda. _Don’t kill him. No, not just yet._

“Say it.” She grabs a fistful of his shirt, tries to drag him up so they’re eye-to-eye. He’s heavy, and she has to stoop- A gesture that infuriates her even further. Shakes him. “ _Say it!_ ”

He smiles. His teeth are broken courtesy of her, and she hopes she’ll get to break every single one. “Say what, Miss Chang? I can’t hear you through all that cracking your voice is doing.”

“Say my father’s name.” Her voice is low now, struggling to rein in her anger. Hands tremble, still holding on, legs determined to stay strong even as the rest of her is breaking apart.

“James Chang,” Autumn says, almost _carelessly_. Even with a mouth full of blood, it sounds coherent enough. “Who died for what he believed in. Who died for his daughter. _Ace_.”

( _Ace, Ace_ , she can almost hear Butch teasing. _Rhymes with waste of space._ Ten years old, holding the taunt near to her heart, asking Jonas if it was true. If it was why her father always was so busy, sometimes so _distant_ with her.)

She lets go of Autumn, and he slumps as she raises her bat. Readies it.

_Ghosts can rest easy now_. Names in the air, names spoken by the killer, names to the wind-

( _“How many have_ you _murdered, following your father’s trail?”_ )

Arms trembling, lowering, face scrunching, determined not to let him see her cry.

(“ _Waste of space? Ace, honey, your father_ loves _you. He’s proud of you._ ”)

“What are you waiting for?” she hears Sarah ask from behind her, as she stares at Autumn, lying there, waiting for that final blow, that judgement of vengeance.

( _Waste of space. Dr. Li’s disapproving tutting. Her father’s disappointed gaze. Amata’s accusing stare. 101 in flames, 101 sinking under the ground, the world burning, burning, burning-)_

“Get out of my sight.”

Her words are a snarl tightly locked in her throat. She’s having difficulty breathing, but her gaze is on Autumn, eyes narrowed to near slits.

“Get the _fuck_ out of my sight and out of the Capital. If I so much as hear your name _whispered_ , I will hunt you down like the beast you are.”

He smiles up at her, like _he_ is the one making the threat, like _he’s_ the one winning this battle. Picks himself up off the ground, and Ace stands her ground as he passes her. His coat brushes her hand. For a moment, he pauses.

“It’s your funeral, Miss Chang.”

She says nothing, as he laughs, limps his way out of the Rotunda, doors unlocked. Doesn’t even talk to Sarah, standing there, watching her a little warily. Instead, she begins to walk up the steps to the room where the purifier is housed.

“For a second there, I thought you were going to kill him,” Sarah voices, when she’s about halfway up. “I’m amazed the world hasn’t beaten mercy out of you.”

Ace’s jaw clenches. “I’m not _like_ him. I’m not a monster.”

“Let’s just hope that doesn’t come back to bite you, shall we? Now, let’s get this place-“

The intercom buzzes to life, and she hisses when she hears Dr. Li’s voice.

“-Something’s wrong with the purifier-“

“Dr. Li?” Sarah asks, bounds right up to the intercom. “I’m at the control room. What’s going on?”

_Something’s wrong with the purifier._ Ace walks pass Sarah, goes to the glass door that seals off the purifier from the rest of the Rotunda. Barely hears the words being exchanged, staring into the room.

(For a moment, she’s screaming out her father’s name, pounding frantically on the glass as he tells her to run, _run, honey, you need to-_ )

“Ace?” A tap on her shoulder. She turns, sees Sarah’s face, creased with something that’s a lot more resigned than determined now.

“What’s wrong?”

“One of us is going to have to go in there and turn the damned thing on.” A pause, a half-beat that doesn’t escape her notice. “And whoever does it isn’t coming back out.”

The words catch her, pin her to the wall. Sarah’s still talking, but she isn’t listening anymore. She’s thinking of Charon. Of how he’s probably worried sick about her, probably thinking she’s dead or worse off.

How she’s never said she loved him for a long, long time.

She’s thinking of her father, dying in front of her eyes, the strongest man in the world who couldn’t be strong enough. Who was _never_ strong enough, but too strong at the same time.

“I’ll do it.” Her voice doesn’t shake. “I’ll start the purifier.”

Sarah barely blinks. “You’re going to have to be quick about it. If the radiation is bad enough, you won’t have much time.”

It’s true: She can hear her Geiger counter begin to tick, a sharp sound that’s counting down the minutes has left to live. Nods. Presses the button to open the doors. Her heart is thumping in her chest, a steady beat.

She’s going to miss that sound.

“Ace,” Sarah calls, as she steps over the threshold. “I won’t forget what you’ve done here. No one will. Thank you.”

_It’s my destiny,_ she wants to call back. _It’s been this way all along._

Settles for a wave, as if she _isn’t_ walking to her imminent death, as if she’ll just punch in the code and stroll out laughing in a few minutes.

She feels every breath she takes as she walks to the keypad. Every drip of sweat rolling down her neck. Every footstep that echoes on the metal floor, every little movement she makes.

_I am the alpha and the omega_ …

Her father’s voice, ringing in her ears, echoing that familiar verse to her as she reaches the keypad. The numbers stare up at her, and she gently presses the code in: 2-1-6.

_… The beginning and the end…_

The wave of radiation that hits her sends her staggering, Geiger counter reaching to a steady scream. She can distantly hear Dr. Li’s voice from the intercom, Sarah calling out her name, the almighty roar of the purifier starting up.

_… I will give unto him that is athirst of the fountain…_

The second wave sends her lurching to her knees, stomach roiling, the world a blur of green and white. Watches the water churn and bubble beyond the glass, round and round, just like her head’s spinning.

_… of the water of life…_

Everything is going to be alright. Everything is going to be alright. It’s going to be okay, Ace, it’s okay, nothing will hurt anymore: Words she keeps telling herself, as she slumps sideways, strength finally, _finally_ failing her.

Stares up at the water, the purifier’s roar receding to a distant whisper, Sarah and Dr. Li all but inaudible now. Everything feels so far away. She wonders if her father felt the same, lying on the same surface, watching his world turn to grey.

_… freely…_

And then she’s gone.


	10. Chapter 10

She wakes up some place familiar. Familiar, but not comforting in the least. 

_I should be dead_ : The first thought she forms.

“You’ve been out for two weeks,” someone says, cutting her musings short.

Sits up slow. Doesn’t know if she should be _happy_ to be alive or _disappointed_.

Sarah Lyons lies on the bed opposite her. She points, questioningly, unable to get her vocal chords working. It feels like a lump is stuck in her throat. Hopes she doesn’t cry- The _last_ thing she needs is to show weakness.

“She’ll wake up soon,” Elder Lyons assures. For as much _his_ benefit than hers, she guesses.

Clears her throat. Takes a moment to breathe.

“I’m going home,” Ace tells him. Her voice catches at the end of the sentence, but she pretends not to notice. To her relief, so does he.

“I understand. But the Brotherhood still requires-"

“I’ll be back. I’ll do whatever then.” A pause. “And then you’ll leave me alone.”

It’s not a request, not a demand even. It’s a statement. She finishes up whatever the Brotherhood needs, and they’ll cease their demands. She’ll be free to waste her life away after that. 

The old man looks at her. Not angrily, just _wearily_. Way too tired. 

She stands, moves to the lockers. Begins rifling through for her equipment. Better she get a move on now before she decides to agree to something regretful.

“Did Charon come by?” she asks. 

She can barely believe herself. After all she’s been through, yet asking questions so calmly. Something is wrong. Something is _very_ wrong, only she can’t figure out what.

“Ah, your ghoul friend. No, no one reported seeing him.”

Files the information away as she pulls on her armor. She hasn’t seen Charon since she returned from Raven Rock. 

He must think she’s dead. He must think that the only person in the world who _cares_ for him, genuinely, is gone. 

And if he thinks she’s dead, perhaps everyone _else_ does. Everyone except the Brotherhood.

“Thank you, Elder Lyons.”

Picking up her bat, she offers a nod before she leaves, pausing only to gently pat Sarah’s shoulder. Let’s the door swing shut behind her as she steps out into the corridor.

Legs tremble. For a moment, she thinks she might fall. Extending an arm, she steadies herself against the wall.

_Something is wrong_. Yes, she _knows_. _What is it?_

_Are you tired? Are you bitter? Are you lost? All of the above? Pick one! Pick all!_

Words, words, careening around her head and colliding with one another. She can’t think straight over them. Considers calling for help, but that’s weakness again.

_Weakness will_ always _look good on you!_

No, no, no, _no!_

She doesn’t realize she’s actually _shouting_ until she hears her voice reverberate through the corridor. 

Mouth clamps shut. Hand digs into her bat so hard her fingers hurt. Takes a deep breath.

_Alright_. Enough. 

Flicking on the radio on her Pip-Boy, she waits as familiar music seeps into her hearing. It calms her, grounds her. 

Only when she figures she can walk without falling does she make her way out into the courtyard. The sunshine momentarily blinds her as she gives the Citadel a last look.

She’s not sure when she’ll be back. But she will be. Unfinished business and all that shit.

And with that, Ace starts making her way to the Underworld, to where –she knows- a familiar face awaits. 


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this is the last chapter in Ace's saga! There was a lot of different scenarios I wrote down, but it never made the final cut. And I /know/ I missed Operation Anchorage, but I didn't really want to write that chapter, ruin the illusion. 
> 
> Is this the end of Ace? In this fic, certainly. But I do know what happens once she reaches the Commonwealth- And it's a little more happier, let me tell you.

The week after Sarah Lyons is buried, she packs up her things.

“Where are you headed, ma’am?” Wadsworth asks, hovering in the middle of the room as she throws everything into her pack.

“Out of here.” She pauses to admire a piece of her brain in a jar, before stuffing _that_ into her pack. “Maybe forever.”

“Why?”

_Because there aren’t any good people left in the world. Because the Capital’s nothing but a string of heartache and regrets._

“It’s time for me to go.”

“But who will-“

“Butch,” she assures, double-checking the drawers of her bedroom. “I told him he can have this place. And if he ever leaves, well, then, that’s up to him what to do with this old place.”

“What about-“

“Wadsworth, please.”

Once she’s satisfied all the essentials and personal memorabilia have been successfully thrown into her pack, she shoulders it. Gives the house one last look. She comes here so rarely, and now she’s leaving. For probable good.

“Ma’am,” the Mr. Handy says. “Are you _sure_ you want to leave?”

She wants to tell him no. That she’ll be back some day, because she _knows_ she will. But the days keep looking darker, and she wants nothing but a fresh start. A new place, where no one needs to know of her name or the things she’s done.

But she smiles, sadly. “I’m sorry, Wadsworth. We had a good run here.”

The door opens, and Dogmeat comes bounding in. He barks, and she pats him, his tail thumping on the ragged carpet.

“You ready to go?” Charon asks, standing in the doorway, arms folded.

She looks at Wadsworth. “Butch’s a good person. He’ll keep this place alright.”

“I sure hope so, ma’am. Good luck out there.”

Nods, straightens. Walks to where Charon is standing. He examines her, then nods, seemingly satisfied.

“Where are we headed to?” he asks, as Ace takes his hand, pulls him out into the sunshine.

“Well…” she starts, and smiles. “I was talking with some traveling merchants the other day…”

“Have you ever wanted to visit the Commonwealth?”

 


End file.
